Genesis 1:1-5 ; 2:1-3; John 2:1-11
January 17, 2010
I’m the youngest of three children. And you can imagine that my parents were thrilled when my brother got old enough to baby sit me and my sister. It was easier, cheaper and they probably thought they were teaching my brother how to handle responsibility.
I’m sure you’ve heard the refrain yourself – when parents leave children with baby sitters. “Listen up girls: Jeff’s in charge. Do whatever he tells you.” Now, I’m sorry, but could they not foresee the problems this was going to cause me and my sister??? They may have been trying to teach my brother how to handle responsibility – but I’m here to tell you, he was not a quick study. “Do whatever he tells you.” These were not words I longed to hear as a child.
The truth is we adults don’t really like to be told to do whatever someone tells us to do either. Our instinct – our automatic response – is, “I’ll decide what I’ll do, thank you very much.” And I would be concerned if it were otherwise. Thinking for ourselves, saying “no” when asked to do something we shouldn’t, being responsible for our own lives – these are good things.
But, what do we do with Mary? She says “do whatever he tells you,” and she’s not talking about my brother. This is Jesus she was talking about. Our fist instinct might be “hey – don’t tell me what to do.” But we need to move beyond that instinct when we’re talking about Jesus. After all, he’s kind of the point, isn’t he? We come here to hear what God says to us – through the bible, through music and ritual, and of course, through the life, actions and words of Jesus. When Jesus tells us to do something, most of us think it’s a good idea to do it. But even if we can get past our instinctive response, even if we’re on board, signed up, ready to do whatever Jesus tells us, just what is he telling us to do? We may want to listen to Mary, to do whatever he tells us to, but most of us don’t have 6 stone jars, and we’re not at a wedding where people need wine.
It’s easy to get a little distracted when reading this passage from the gospel of John. I think that’s especially true right now – these days when you pick up the Des Moines Register and more often than not marriage is the subject of at least one article. It’s easy to hear this story of the wedding of Cana and to think it’s about what constitutes marriage. But it’s not. At least not in the man, woman, pastor and wedding party sense. To read it that way is to get distracted.
It’s also easy to get distracted by the miracle – changing water into wine. Some people get distracted because they believe the miracle actually happened and others get distracted because they can’t believe the miracle happened. For those who can’t believe it, it ruins the whole story for them and throws the credibility of the bible and the story of Jesus into question. For those who believe it and insist others do too, they tie belief in miracles to belief in Jesus, missing John’s point altogether.
John himself warns against making the miracle the point of the story. John writes at the end of the second chapter, “Many believed in Jesus’ name because they saw the miracles he was doing. But Jesus did not trust them, because he knew all people.” John knew that belief in Jesus because he performed miracles was thin belief at best. He didn’t trust this kind of conversion because he knew it was based on magic, not substance. So whether we believe in it or not, to focus on the miracle here is to allow ourselves to be distracted from the meat of the message.
We need to not get distracted – not by marriage, not by miracles, and certainly not by some debate over whether Jesus was a tee-totaler or divine bar tender. It’s not about these things. The meat of this passage is found in Mary’s words, “do whatever he tells you.” And the message is that if we do, life will pour forth. Wild, exuberant, joyous life. The kind of life that comes from being freed from oppression, scarcity, fear, loneliness, despair. This passage is not about a wedding – it’s about all of creation. The wedding, the joyous occasion, is the glimpse of what is possible for the world if we do what Jesus tells us to.
The wedding at Cana is the end of John’s creation story. Remember that John, from the start of his gospel, is retelling the creation story of Genesis. “In the beginning,” Genesis starts, “when God created the heavens and earth.” “In the beginning,” John writes, “was the Word and the Word was with God.” Jesus is the Word in this gospel. Instead of a birth story of the baby Jesus, for John the good news of Jesus prompts a retelling of the birth of the entire creation. “All things came into being through him,” he writes.
But in Genesis, there is one more step after all is created. Most of us are in the habit of saying, “God created the world in six days and on the seventh day, God rested.” I don’t think that’s how we should look at it though. That metaphorical, symbolic seventh day was a much a part of creation as the six that went before it. “And on the seventh day God finished the work that was done and rested. So God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it.” God finished on the seventh, not the sixth day. The seventh day is when Sabbath was made an integral part of creation – built into the fabric of everything that is. Without the rest – without the Sabbath – creation doesn’t work…it’s not done…it’s doomed. God didn’t rest because God needed a nap – God created the Sabbath because the Sabbath is necessary for creation to remain good – blessed and hallowed.
The story of the wedding at Cana is the seventh day for John. This is Jesus’ first public appearance in this gospel, and the crowds are there. Things begin to run out; depletion and dryness begin to take hold and Mary realizes it’s time for a breath of fresh air – for newness and life. When the world takes a breath and fresh air is allowed in, those things that are stale and overworked, those people who are tired and joyless, get a new life.
Sabbath and rest and renewal are not just nice, spiritual, feel-good concepts. They are necessary for the very health of creation. They’re necessary for the fullness of human life. They are necessary for justice. Sabbath is always about justice in the bible. It is tied to the concept of Jubilee. The idea is that with habitual regularity, everything must stop so that those who are being forgotten can be seen. Those who are worked to the bone can come up for air, and those who have been crushed by the weight of the weary world can find relief. Work stopped not just so the wealthy land owners could take time to be with family, but also so those who slaved away on the land weren’t, for a while anyway, forced to work. In the jubilee, everything came to a halt – debts were forgiven, lands were redistributed, balance and equality that had been eroded over the years was restored.
God truly wants Sabbath – everyone needs to rest…but if we’re honest with ourselves, we know some people need it more than others. We know some people don’t have the luxury of choosing to rest – they have to be given rest. What Jesus tells the servants to do is to disrupt the old, weary, tired ways of the world and bring in new life to give rest to others.
This passage, the wedding at Cana, is far more applicable to Haiti today than to gay marriage or debates about science and miracles. Now, at first it might seem obscene to say that a passage that appears to be about a party might actually have something to say about Haiti in the wake of the earthquake. But as we know, our faith and our stories are never trivial. They are always about speaking hope and acting in love to those who need it most. What is obscene is to read this passage five days after the earthquake in Haiti and then say it is about a party that Jesus threw. It’s obscene in the face of the ongoing disaster that is Haiti to say that Sabbath is about taking a day off and resting in front of the TV. Our faith is not that trivial. And thank God. Because there is something to be said and done in the face of such horror and injustice.
Tracy Kidder is the author of a book called, “Mountains Beyond Mountains,” which is the story of Dr. Paul Farmer who founded the organization Partners In Health. Partners in Health works to bring modern medical care to poor communities in nine countries around the world, and it all started in Haiti. The day of the earthquake, Kidder wrote an op ed piece for the New York Times:
“while earthquakes are acts of nature, extreme vulnerability to earthquakes is manmade,” he writes. “And the history of Haiti’s vulnerability to natural disasters — to floods and famine and disease as well as to this terrible earthquake — is long and complex, but the essence of it seems clear enough.
Haiti is a country created by former slaves, kidnapped West Africans, who, in 1804, when slavery still flourished in the United States and the Caribbean, threw off their cruel French masters and created their own republic. Haitians have been punished ever since for claiming their freedom: by the French who, in the 1820s, demanded and received payment from the Haitians for the slave colony, impoverishing the country for years to come; by an often brutal American occupation from 1915 to 1934; by indigenous misrule that the American government aided and abetted. (In more recent years American administrations fell into a pattern of promoting and then undermining Haitian constitutional democracy.)”
Natural disasters happen – and they don’t discriminate between the good and the bad, the rich and the poor. Floods in New Orleans, Cedar Rapids. Earthquakes in San Francisco and Haiti. Tornados in Parkersburg, tsunamis in Indonesia.. But what we are painfully reminded of this week is that the vast majority of the people of Haiti don’t get Sabbath – ever. Not all people are affected by natural disasters the same because not all people come into them equally. As nature has betrayed that country this week, we are reminded that we have betrayed them over and over by violating the demand of creation for Sabbath. We have violated the command of Jesus to pour out the good stuff on countries like Haiti.
What does Jesus tell us to do? Lavish people with all that we have that they might have joy and peace.
But, not all aid organizations are equal either. We know there is a huge outpouring of generosity right now, but there is also a huge problem with aid getting where it needs to go. I’m sure like you, I have been trying to figure that out. Each of us needs to decide not only how much to give, but also where to give. For what it’s worth, here’s what I have decided, knowing the situation is pretty challenging right now.
Presbyterian Disaster Assistance is an incredibly solid, tried, true and reliable organization. They will be in Haiti for a long time to come, helping them not just in the immediate aftermath, but in the years it will take to recover from this disaster. But, they like so many international organizations right now are pretty stymied by the collapsed infrastructure and lack of people on the ground.
At the moment, the people that need resources – in the form of money – are the organizations that have been there already, working for the welfare of Haiti’s people for years. The organization I mentioned before, Partners in Health, is one such group, and right now they have the largest operating hospital in Haiti, untouched by the earthquake. And prior to the earthquake it was arguably the highest quality hospital in all of Haiti. This hospital is in Cange, which is outside Port Au Prince. Even though it’s a bit of a trek, they are already seeing a steady stream of patients coming from the disaster area, and every building on the campus has been converted into hospital rooms. Partners in Health employees are almost exclusively Haitian – 100 doctors and 600 nurses. They have deployed doctors and nurses to set up field hospitals in Port Au Prince. And many of these doctors and nurses have family in Port Au Prince, and are setting up hospital centers in family homes that were not damaged or destroyed by the quake.
All of that is to say that I am giving to both Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, and Partners in Health. I am giving what I can to Partners in Health in these very first days and weeks, and will be giving to PDA as the weeks go on for a longer term, sustained effort at disaster recovery. You can do the same or you may have a better idea of what makes the most sense. If you want to give to either of these organizations, just make out a check to First Pres and put the name of the organization in the memo line. We will get it where it needs to go. There is donation information for these two organizations on the bulletin board in fellowship hall, info on PDA in the bulletin insert and both can be accessed from our own church website’s home page.
There is no better time for a wedding party – a feast where those who are running out are given the good stuff. Let’s do what Jesus tells us – let’s take what we have – even if it seems ordinary and unimpressive, and give it to the people. When we do, we will see it changed into something that will bring life and hope to others. It’s a wonderful message for Haiti today. It’s a wonderful message for any time and place that there are people in desperate need of Sabbath. Amen.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Where Everybody Knows Your Name
Isaiah 43:1-7; Luke 3:21-22
January 10, 2010
When I was home for Christmas, my family played a game called “Smarty Pants”. In this game, the group is given a topic and you have to come up with words or names on a given list that would fit that topic. For example the topic would be “Top household pets.” And one by one around the circle you would say “dog, cat, bird, etc.” One topic was to name the characters from the TV show “Cheers”. My dad was the first people to go – obviously an enviable position since no one had yet named Sam or Diane. But, he sat in silence for a long time. And then he said exasperatedly “I can picture each one, but I can not come up with a single name!” I found it really funny that my dad couldn’t think of a single name of a character in a show whose theme song is “Where everybody knows your name”.
“Cheers” was really popular when I was growing up. I think part of the appeal of this show, the appeal of any place one might go where everyone knows your name, is that it speaks to our desire to be acknowledged and noticed by others. Those of you who are regulars at Saint’s Rest know what I’m talking about. Surely you get a warm feeling walking into a place where you’re guaranteed to see people who know you – including the folks who work there. We simply like to be known by name.
In Isaiah the people are told that God will call them by name. But in this instance it must have sounded far more powerful than having people greet you by name when you’re out and about town. To understand the significance of this, we have to remember that the people to whom the prophet is speaking had lost their name when Israel was defeated by the Babylonians. They thought of Israel not just as a country but as an identity – as the name God gave them when they crossed over the Jordan into the promised land. Now, they are a nameless people embedded in a country that has no interest whatsoever in their identity – in who they are as human beings. With the collapse of the country – and with it the loss of political identity – came the loss of their spiritual name, their divine identity.
Israel was supposed to be God’s treasured nation – the chosen people. Yet here they are in Babylon and they feel like God has forgotten them…completely. Into this desperation and complete sense of being forgotten by God and the world, God speaks. And the very first thing God says in the verse that begins our passage – the very first thing God does is address them by their divine name: “O Israel”. They are seen and recognized for who they are. Then, God goes on to speak some of the most nurturing words found in our scriptures: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…because you are precious in my sight, and I love you…I am with you.” I’m not sure I can even imagine how that felt to the Israelites. They existed again. Once again, they knew they were a people loved and known by Yahweh.
Fast forward about 600 years to Jesus’ baptism and we hear again about God naming people. The story sounds different but the similarities are huge. Yet again the Jews are living in exile, even though this time they are technically living within the borders of old Israel. They are nameless, mere numbers to the empire. Just two weeks ago, on Christmas Eve, we heard that when Jesus was born the concern of the Emperor was to count the people – to call for a census, changing people into numbers and statistics for the sole purpose of exploiting them.
Into this exile the author tells the people of Jesus’ baptism, and God calling Jesus by name. And just like with the Israelites, it’s not an individual, given birth name. Rather it is the name that is both his and the name that can be extended to an entire nation: you are my child, the beloved. I love this word: “Beloved”. I feel like it is so intimate and caring. It indicates a relationship of both tenderness and a fierce love that persists through everything. It echoes the mothering, nurturing God of Isaiah, calling Jesus my beloved.
Now the reason Jesus’ baptism must have felt as powerful to the 1st century Jews who heard about it as it did to their exiled ancestors is that by the time the gospels were written, they understood that Jesus was a stand in for them as individuals and for all humanity. This baptism is both particular and universal. It is particular because God chose to become particular just like us. Jesus was human, unique, bound by history and culture. God speaks to Jesus in his baptism – Jesus as the man, the unique individual. In this, because we share Jesus’ baptism, God speaks to us as individuals in all our uniqueness. God calls each of us, individually: Beloved.
At the same time, in speaking at Jesus’ baptism, God speaks to humanity as one entity. Writing after the resurrection, the authors of these gospels are reminding the early Christians that Jesus’ baptism was about more than God naming Jesus, the particular Jewish man. After the resurrection, they understood that Jesus is the Christ – the head of the body to which we all belong. What happened to Jesus happens to us and what happens to us happens to Jesus. Jesus is both particular man and the representative of all of humanity. Billions emerge from the water with Jesus and we all hear our name together: Beloved human kind, beloved creation.
Fast forward 2000 years, and I think we too are living in a sort of exile. Like the early Christians, we are in exile even as we live as citizens of our own country. We sometimes feel out of place because we know that how the world operates is not what we talk about in here – in church. I think because we have heard about, over and over…God’s realm, we know there is an alternate way to live. And so when we live in the everyday world, we feel this constant yearning for something else – for a different kind of existence. In the world, we aren’t addressed by name – one person called ours a nameless culture.
I don’t know that it makes sense to say ours is a nameless culture. I think of it more as a culture where we might have names, but when used they don’t indicate that we are known as people who exist as God’s beloved. Instead, when our names are used they are tied to something else that is far more mechanical, technological, and impersonal.
The most ubiquitous example I thought of was how now the government assigns you a number soon after you are born. Your name is meaningless to them: we are known by our number…our social security number. Add to that, we are approaching our own census this year – the goal of which is merely to be counted. And that’s just our government. Sometimes they actually use those numbers to help us, to give us voice in the form of a vote. Or to give us health insurance when we reach 65. But think about the private sector.
I am always a little disconcerted when I go to pump my gas at a gas station and as soon as I slide my credit card out, the screen says something like, “Welcome, Kirsten. Can I offer you a car wash?” It seems like such a distorted use of my name. It is meant to convince me that I am known personally, but think about it: this is a machine! It is an inanimate object, and all it’s really trying to do is sell me something. It can’t know me personally, and it certainly doesn’t call me “Beloved.” All it can do is try to exploit my name in order to entice me to buy something. They want me, in one way or another, to become the number they really care about: my credit card number. The only way I exist to them, my only and entire identity is that 16 digit number. My name to them is “consumer.”
Finally, think about one of the most significant economic measures in our world economy: the Gross Domestic Product. In this measurement, not only are we not understood as people with names, we are measured – our worth is measured – by what we produce. Here our name is “economic indicator”. We are only understood by what we do that adds to the wealth of our country. And God forbid you are unemployed or homeless…if you are, you are worthless in this system. If you are named in anyway it is as a large number representing the unemployed in our country…and it is understood that if you are a part of this number, you are definitely not “beloved”…you are a drag on our economy.
This is exile. When every day we are called “number”, “consumer”, “producer”, “economic indicator”, “statistic”, it hard to remember that God calls us by our true name: “Beloved.”
And so we come here to listen – to be reminded that we are called by our true names. This is an alternate reality where our names are spoken in the deepest love possible. We come as individuals, uniquely situated in our time and place, and God calls us by name. When we are lost, feeling abandoned and questioning the existence of this merciful, forgiving, compassionate God, we hear, “Kirsten, you are mine. Fear not, I am with you my Beloved.”
We also come as the church body, and we hear the more universal name. This reminds us that no place, no time in history is beyond redemption. It’s a message of hope for all who are lost.
But I have to admit that I am left wondering if we feel the same sense of salvation and profound hope as Israel did when we are reminded of our true identity. I don’t know that we do. Maybe things have to get worse, or maybe our exile feels so normal now that we can’t tell the difference. And so we forgot what God’s name for us even sounds like, and how it can call us to something so much more fulfilling and loving. We don’t see our exile for what it is.
And the price of that is acceptance of a world that counts deaths as statistics, and views people as economic pawns. The price of that is we misunderstand who we are – and it leaves us feeling like this is all there is. We believe our worth is measured by what we do, how much we make, who we know, what we own. We think titles are legitimate ways of naming people. We think it’s okay to know the names of our family and friends, but not the name of the people living on the streets and in their cars. If we don’t understand this as exile, then it becomes the inevitable reality – and no one expects it to change.
So what would it mean for the church, like God, to call people by name in such an intimate, nurturing, personal way? First and foremost, I think, it would mean exposing the exile we live in. It would mean helping each other realize we long for something more, that there is something more, and that the way things are robs us and others of our true names and identities. It would be noticing and helping others to notice the massive suffering that comes from forgetting that God’s calls us as individuals and human kind together, “Beloved.”
Once we become aware of the disconnect – of the exile – then the church becomes the place where everybody knows your name. The church is the antidote to exile. It is a culture of forgiveness and loving presence. We name people – we see them as God’s beloved child. When you step in here, you are known through God’s eyes. Each week we proclaim it in our assurance of pardon: In Christ – in God’s eyes – we are forgiven, freed and made whole. We are made whole – seen completely, not defined by what we can do or produce or accomplish or purchase. And neither are we defined by our mistakes. We are beloved! There is nothing a person could do that would cause the church to withhold forgiveness or abandon them to a nameless world.
And what would it mean for the church to call humanity by name, just as intimately, and lovingly? It would mean offering the possibility that humanity is not beyond redemption – Israel is not lost in the empire forever – we are not forever trapped by our systems that distort our names and alienate us from the kind of love God offers. The world is not beholden to the way things are. We can always speak and live that alternate reality and possibility. And the reason we can is because of our name: Beloved. May this be a place where everybody knows your name. Amen.
January 10, 2010
When I was home for Christmas, my family played a game called “Smarty Pants”. In this game, the group is given a topic and you have to come up with words or names on a given list that would fit that topic. For example the topic would be “Top household pets.” And one by one around the circle you would say “dog, cat, bird, etc.” One topic was to name the characters from the TV show “Cheers”. My dad was the first people to go – obviously an enviable position since no one had yet named Sam or Diane. But, he sat in silence for a long time. And then he said exasperatedly “I can picture each one, but I can not come up with a single name!” I found it really funny that my dad couldn’t think of a single name of a character in a show whose theme song is “Where everybody knows your name”.
“Cheers” was really popular when I was growing up. I think part of the appeal of this show, the appeal of any place one might go where everyone knows your name, is that it speaks to our desire to be acknowledged and noticed by others. Those of you who are regulars at Saint’s Rest know what I’m talking about. Surely you get a warm feeling walking into a place where you’re guaranteed to see people who know you – including the folks who work there. We simply like to be known by name.
In Isaiah the people are told that God will call them by name. But in this instance it must have sounded far more powerful than having people greet you by name when you’re out and about town. To understand the significance of this, we have to remember that the people to whom the prophet is speaking had lost their name when Israel was defeated by the Babylonians. They thought of Israel not just as a country but as an identity – as the name God gave them when they crossed over the Jordan into the promised land. Now, they are a nameless people embedded in a country that has no interest whatsoever in their identity – in who they are as human beings. With the collapse of the country – and with it the loss of political identity – came the loss of their spiritual name, their divine identity.
Israel was supposed to be God’s treasured nation – the chosen people. Yet here they are in Babylon and they feel like God has forgotten them…completely. Into this desperation and complete sense of being forgotten by God and the world, God speaks. And the very first thing God says in the verse that begins our passage – the very first thing God does is address them by their divine name: “O Israel”. They are seen and recognized for who they are. Then, God goes on to speak some of the most nurturing words found in our scriptures: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you…because you are precious in my sight, and I love you…I am with you.” I’m not sure I can even imagine how that felt to the Israelites. They existed again. Once again, they knew they were a people loved and known by Yahweh.
Fast forward about 600 years to Jesus’ baptism and we hear again about God naming people. The story sounds different but the similarities are huge. Yet again the Jews are living in exile, even though this time they are technically living within the borders of old Israel. They are nameless, mere numbers to the empire. Just two weeks ago, on Christmas Eve, we heard that when Jesus was born the concern of the Emperor was to count the people – to call for a census, changing people into numbers and statistics for the sole purpose of exploiting them.
Into this exile the author tells the people of Jesus’ baptism, and God calling Jesus by name. And just like with the Israelites, it’s not an individual, given birth name. Rather it is the name that is both his and the name that can be extended to an entire nation: you are my child, the beloved. I love this word: “Beloved”. I feel like it is so intimate and caring. It indicates a relationship of both tenderness and a fierce love that persists through everything. It echoes the mothering, nurturing God of Isaiah, calling Jesus my beloved.
Now the reason Jesus’ baptism must have felt as powerful to the 1st century Jews who heard about it as it did to their exiled ancestors is that by the time the gospels were written, they understood that Jesus was a stand in for them as individuals and for all humanity. This baptism is both particular and universal. It is particular because God chose to become particular just like us. Jesus was human, unique, bound by history and culture. God speaks to Jesus in his baptism – Jesus as the man, the unique individual. In this, because we share Jesus’ baptism, God speaks to us as individuals in all our uniqueness. God calls each of us, individually: Beloved.
At the same time, in speaking at Jesus’ baptism, God speaks to humanity as one entity. Writing after the resurrection, the authors of these gospels are reminding the early Christians that Jesus’ baptism was about more than God naming Jesus, the particular Jewish man. After the resurrection, they understood that Jesus is the Christ – the head of the body to which we all belong. What happened to Jesus happens to us and what happens to us happens to Jesus. Jesus is both particular man and the representative of all of humanity. Billions emerge from the water with Jesus and we all hear our name together: Beloved human kind, beloved creation.
Fast forward 2000 years, and I think we too are living in a sort of exile. Like the early Christians, we are in exile even as we live as citizens of our own country. We sometimes feel out of place because we know that how the world operates is not what we talk about in here – in church. I think because we have heard about, over and over…God’s realm, we know there is an alternate way to live. And so when we live in the everyday world, we feel this constant yearning for something else – for a different kind of existence. In the world, we aren’t addressed by name – one person called ours a nameless culture.
I don’t know that it makes sense to say ours is a nameless culture. I think of it more as a culture where we might have names, but when used they don’t indicate that we are known as people who exist as God’s beloved. Instead, when our names are used they are tied to something else that is far more mechanical, technological, and impersonal.
The most ubiquitous example I thought of was how now the government assigns you a number soon after you are born. Your name is meaningless to them: we are known by our number…our social security number. Add to that, we are approaching our own census this year – the goal of which is merely to be counted. And that’s just our government. Sometimes they actually use those numbers to help us, to give us voice in the form of a vote. Or to give us health insurance when we reach 65. But think about the private sector.
I am always a little disconcerted when I go to pump my gas at a gas station and as soon as I slide my credit card out, the screen says something like, “Welcome, Kirsten. Can I offer you a car wash?” It seems like such a distorted use of my name. It is meant to convince me that I am known personally, but think about it: this is a machine! It is an inanimate object, and all it’s really trying to do is sell me something. It can’t know me personally, and it certainly doesn’t call me “Beloved.” All it can do is try to exploit my name in order to entice me to buy something. They want me, in one way or another, to become the number they really care about: my credit card number. The only way I exist to them, my only and entire identity is that 16 digit number. My name to them is “consumer.”
Finally, think about one of the most significant economic measures in our world economy: the Gross Domestic Product. In this measurement, not only are we not understood as people with names, we are measured – our worth is measured – by what we produce. Here our name is “economic indicator”. We are only understood by what we do that adds to the wealth of our country. And God forbid you are unemployed or homeless…if you are, you are worthless in this system. If you are named in anyway it is as a large number representing the unemployed in our country…and it is understood that if you are a part of this number, you are definitely not “beloved”…you are a drag on our economy.
This is exile. When every day we are called “number”, “consumer”, “producer”, “economic indicator”, “statistic”, it hard to remember that God calls us by our true name: “Beloved.”
And so we come here to listen – to be reminded that we are called by our true names. This is an alternate reality where our names are spoken in the deepest love possible. We come as individuals, uniquely situated in our time and place, and God calls us by name. When we are lost, feeling abandoned and questioning the existence of this merciful, forgiving, compassionate God, we hear, “Kirsten, you are mine. Fear not, I am with you my Beloved.”
We also come as the church body, and we hear the more universal name. This reminds us that no place, no time in history is beyond redemption. It’s a message of hope for all who are lost.
But I have to admit that I am left wondering if we feel the same sense of salvation and profound hope as Israel did when we are reminded of our true identity. I don’t know that we do. Maybe things have to get worse, or maybe our exile feels so normal now that we can’t tell the difference. And so we forgot what God’s name for us even sounds like, and how it can call us to something so much more fulfilling and loving. We don’t see our exile for what it is.
And the price of that is acceptance of a world that counts deaths as statistics, and views people as economic pawns. The price of that is we misunderstand who we are – and it leaves us feeling like this is all there is. We believe our worth is measured by what we do, how much we make, who we know, what we own. We think titles are legitimate ways of naming people. We think it’s okay to know the names of our family and friends, but not the name of the people living on the streets and in their cars. If we don’t understand this as exile, then it becomes the inevitable reality – and no one expects it to change.
So what would it mean for the church, like God, to call people by name in such an intimate, nurturing, personal way? First and foremost, I think, it would mean exposing the exile we live in. It would mean helping each other realize we long for something more, that there is something more, and that the way things are robs us and others of our true names and identities. It would be noticing and helping others to notice the massive suffering that comes from forgetting that God’s calls us as individuals and human kind together, “Beloved.”
Once we become aware of the disconnect – of the exile – then the church becomes the place where everybody knows your name. The church is the antidote to exile. It is a culture of forgiveness and loving presence. We name people – we see them as God’s beloved child. When you step in here, you are known through God’s eyes. Each week we proclaim it in our assurance of pardon: In Christ – in God’s eyes – we are forgiven, freed and made whole. We are made whole – seen completely, not defined by what we can do or produce or accomplish or purchase. And neither are we defined by our mistakes. We are beloved! There is nothing a person could do that would cause the church to withhold forgiveness or abandon them to a nameless world.
And what would it mean for the church to call humanity by name, just as intimately, and lovingly? It would mean offering the possibility that humanity is not beyond redemption – Israel is not lost in the empire forever – we are not forever trapped by our systems that distort our names and alienate us from the kind of love God offers. The world is not beholden to the way things are. We can always speak and live that alternate reality and possibility. And the reason we can is because of our name: Beloved. May this be a place where everybody knows your name. Amen.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
An Epiphany
Matthew 2:1-12
Epiphany Sunday, January 1, 2006
The past few weeks it’s been cold, snowy, gray, and even rainy. Oh, and did I mention cold. Of course I don’t need to tell you that, and I probably shouldn’t be complaining. At least in this bitter cold we’ve had some sun. But still, I’m tired of the weather. I’m tired of the cold, I’m tired of shoveling, I’m tired of it being dark at 5 p.m., and I’m tired of having to bundle Lydia up like a Eskimo every time we leave the house.
Add to that some post-holiday let down – time with family is over, back to work after some time off, and staring at the Christmas decorations that need to come down. All and all, I’m feeling a bit lethargic these days. And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who feels like all she wants to do when it’s this cold out and the tree needs to come down is to snuggle up on the couch with a good book…and stay there for a few days. In case you are feeling that way, I’m glad you decided to show up here this morning!
So maybe it was the influence of my greater than usual homebody-ness, but this week I found myself really wondering about the journey of the Magi, the ones called wise men in most of our Bible translations. I have been wondering what got them out of their homes, what moved them to go out on the road. They made a long, hard journey. They obviously thought they had a compelling reason for making the journey. But why? Why did the magi set out in search of Jesus?
We don’t know much about the magi, but we know a bit. On this Sunday it is traditional to sing the hymn, “We Three Kings,” which is supposedly based on this passage. But one of the few things we do know about the magi is that they weren’t kings at all. The term Magi was originally reserved for a tribe of priests for the Persian Empire. They were experts in the supernatural, things like astrology, and the interpretation of dreams.
And it doesn’t hurt to remind ourselves of a few more details about the magi, since our scripture texts get mixed up with Christmas pageants in our heads until it’s hard to remember what happens where. We know from reading our Bible that the magi don’t show up with the shepherds – they aren’t even in the same story – and we know that they don’t arrive at the stable, but instead at Mary and Joseph’s house.
We know from the Biblical text that they came from the East, though we don’t really know where. But no matter where exactly they came from, it is clear that they came a long way, they made a significant journey. And it was all for the sake of the child who had been born, and the star that lit the way. But why? I just can’t get that question out of my mind.
Jesus was probably a toddler at this time. There were a few people who had been touched by his birth, who felt that they had shared in some miraculous and holy event. But for the most part, word had not spread. Jesus wouldn’t really have any followers until many years later. So there weren’t any Christians yet, any followers of Christ. But there was the Jewish community, the people of Israel. Jesus was born into this community, was a part of it, was raised in its traditions. It was Jewish prophesies of a messiah that were applied to Jesus. But even that community had not quite noticed Jesus yet. That would not come until much later. Only a very small number believed that anything special was happening with this small child. So while the rest of the world is going on about its business, a group of magi see a star, and they set out from the East, and search for the obscure, basically unknown child, Jesus.
The funny thing about these magi, to me, is that they weren’t Jews. They didn’t know the
prophecies. Nothing in the magi’s own culture told them to look for this kid. They weren’t looking to see their own religion’s prophecies fulfilled. They weren’t looking for their own messiah. And yet, they were seeking, and working hard at it.
I was trying to imagine what the analogy would be for me. At first I was thinking it would be like making a pilgrimage to Mecca. Since I’m not Moslem, it would be out of the ordinary for me to journey to a sacred site of a faith that is not my own. But the journey the magi made was even more out of the ordinary than that. I know something about Muhammad. I know he has huge significance for many people. That wasn’t true yet of Jesus. So maybe it’s more like if I were to go to Mobile, Alabama, believing that I have seen special signs of God’s presence there – even though nothing in my faith or my community tells me that that is the case.
We don’t know anything about why these guys took their journey to see Jesus. Why did they leave home? Why did they set out on such a dedicated search? Alas, the Bible doesn’t give any clues as to why. It just leaves that question unanswered. Their search just doesn’t make sense. Or then again maybe it does.
Maybe when we focus on the searching in this story we can get some insight into these magi. If we enter the story with the magi in this story on the way to Nazareth we can ask: What do we know of searching? I suspect this question will have as many different answers as there are people in this place this morning. We are all searching at some level.
Some of you are seekers in the most open sense of that word – drawn to seek a relationship with God but not completely sure that the Christian church is the best place for you. But you’re still willing to spend some time with this community of faith while you are searching.
Some of you are committed, life-long Christians. For you the search may be a process of continually seeking to deepen and strengthen your faith, to be always growing.
Or maybe most of the time you believe your time of searching is done – you feel confidant in the faith you have found. Maybe there is only the occasional quiet nagging of a voice just on the edge of consciousness that speaks of unfulfilled longing, suggesting there is something more out there, urging you to set out again on the search.
Maybe some of you don’t know what you’re searching for, but you know something’s missing from life and you want to believe there’s more – so you have set out trying to find it.
Or maybe some of you are as cozy as I am when I settle into the couch on a cold, snowy day – figuring there’s not much that’s compelling enough to get you to budge!
I respect, and have no particular reason to question, those who say they have no belief in or yearning for God’s presence in their lives. But, I believe that most of us do feel that yearning. I think this is what we know about searching. Something in us is drawn toward something divine, and so our lives become a journey toward the divine. I suspect it was that yearning that lay behind the Magi’s decision to set out upon their search. I believe that yearning itself is a God-given gift, a motivation to seek God. It’s what sets us searching.
Of course, there is a sort of good news/bad news about this searching – and we see this in the Magi’s story. The good news is that the search paid off – they found what they were searching for. The bad news is that their journey didn’t end when they found him.
And that is true for us, too. If we learn anything from the Magi, it is that finding Jesus is only the first step in the next leg of the journey, a journey on a new road. Once we’ve encountered Jesus, which might be an amazing experience, we still have to integrate that into our lives and let it change us and send us in directions we never knew before. In other words, the journey doesn’t end.
Somehow, it was the call of God that set the magi on their way and it was the encounter with Jesus that convinced them to change course and set their life on a new path. And so the question comes to us: Where do you hear God’s call? Do you hear it in the stars – through dreaming? Whispered to you through your longings and desires? What is your epiphany? What is it that you have found that keeps you coming back here, that keeps you yearning to live as God has called you to live – to go where God directs you?
I had someone ask me recently to articulate the reasons I feel compelled to do what I believe God is calling me to do. He was asking, basically, what pulls me toward God even when it seems like God is far away and hard to find. So I’ve been thinking about it. I realized that for me, for whatever reason – let’s call it God – I seem to be wired to take on the experiences of the invisible people in our world. I imagine myself in their shoes and imagine what it is like to cry out and then find there is absolutely no one listening. Really no one who thinks you are living.
At times this completely overwhelms me and I shut down – I try to shut the feelings out completely. But most of the time it is those people – the invisible – that compel me to make a journey to places I don’t yet know. This is what compels me to come here to worship and to learn, to seek God and try to make sense of it all.
What has God placed in you that compels you to make the journey? What gets you out of bed and keeps you searching for meaning and purpose? What motivates you to action? Maybe it is your encounters with Jesus – in whatever way that happens – that motivate you to continue on the way – and we all encounter Jesus in different ways. Some of us meet Jesus in the scriptures, some of us see Jesus in the life of faithful person. Some see Jesus in the eyes of those who suffer most in this world. Some encounter Jesus in communion, or through worship and community.
These are epiphanies. These are the moments we are set on a journey seeking even more – motivated to be an agent of God, rather than just people who stay where we are and keep doing what we have always done.
To say that we are searching, that we are on a journey rather than settled in one place, is an odd kind of good news, especially in a culture where we are eager for end results, and terribly impatient with the process. But I am convinced that the search contains as much good news as the arrival. Searching is our heartfelt response to God’s call to us. It is the expression of our yearning, the willingness to go out of our way in the hope of encountering God in our own lives. It is the opening for epiphany. Amen
Epiphany Sunday, January 1, 2006
The past few weeks it’s been cold, snowy, gray, and even rainy. Oh, and did I mention cold. Of course I don’t need to tell you that, and I probably shouldn’t be complaining. At least in this bitter cold we’ve had some sun. But still, I’m tired of the weather. I’m tired of the cold, I’m tired of shoveling, I’m tired of it being dark at 5 p.m., and I’m tired of having to bundle Lydia up like a Eskimo every time we leave the house.
Add to that some post-holiday let down – time with family is over, back to work after some time off, and staring at the Christmas decorations that need to come down. All and all, I’m feeling a bit lethargic these days. And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who feels like all she wants to do when it’s this cold out and the tree needs to come down is to snuggle up on the couch with a good book…and stay there for a few days. In case you are feeling that way, I’m glad you decided to show up here this morning!
So maybe it was the influence of my greater than usual homebody-ness, but this week I found myself really wondering about the journey of the Magi, the ones called wise men in most of our Bible translations. I have been wondering what got them out of their homes, what moved them to go out on the road. They made a long, hard journey. They obviously thought they had a compelling reason for making the journey. But why? Why did the magi set out in search of Jesus?
We don’t know much about the magi, but we know a bit. On this Sunday it is traditional to sing the hymn, “We Three Kings,” which is supposedly based on this passage. But one of the few things we do know about the magi is that they weren’t kings at all. The term Magi was originally reserved for a tribe of priests for the Persian Empire. They were experts in the supernatural, things like astrology, and the interpretation of dreams.
And it doesn’t hurt to remind ourselves of a few more details about the magi, since our scripture texts get mixed up with Christmas pageants in our heads until it’s hard to remember what happens where. We know from reading our Bible that the magi don’t show up with the shepherds – they aren’t even in the same story – and we know that they don’t arrive at the stable, but instead at Mary and Joseph’s house.
We know from the Biblical text that they came from the East, though we don’t really know where. But no matter where exactly they came from, it is clear that they came a long way, they made a significant journey. And it was all for the sake of the child who had been born, and the star that lit the way. But why? I just can’t get that question out of my mind.
Jesus was probably a toddler at this time. There were a few people who had been touched by his birth, who felt that they had shared in some miraculous and holy event. But for the most part, word had not spread. Jesus wouldn’t really have any followers until many years later. So there weren’t any Christians yet, any followers of Christ. But there was the Jewish community, the people of Israel. Jesus was born into this community, was a part of it, was raised in its traditions. It was Jewish prophesies of a messiah that were applied to Jesus. But even that community had not quite noticed Jesus yet. That would not come until much later. Only a very small number believed that anything special was happening with this small child. So while the rest of the world is going on about its business, a group of magi see a star, and they set out from the East, and search for the obscure, basically unknown child, Jesus.
The funny thing about these magi, to me, is that they weren’t Jews. They didn’t know the
prophecies. Nothing in the magi’s own culture told them to look for this kid. They weren’t looking to see their own religion’s prophecies fulfilled. They weren’t looking for their own messiah. And yet, they were seeking, and working hard at it.
I was trying to imagine what the analogy would be for me. At first I was thinking it would be like making a pilgrimage to Mecca. Since I’m not Moslem, it would be out of the ordinary for me to journey to a sacred site of a faith that is not my own. But the journey the magi made was even more out of the ordinary than that. I know something about Muhammad. I know he has huge significance for many people. That wasn’t true yet of Jesus. So maybe it’s more like if I were to go to Mobile, Alabama, believing that I have seen special signs of God’s presence there – even though nothing in my faith or my community tells me that that is the case.
We don’t know anything about why these guys took their journey to see Jesus. Why did they leave home? Why did they set out on such a dedicated search? Alas, the Bible doesn’t give any clues as to why. It just leaves that question unanswered. Their search just doesn’t make sense. Or then again maybe it does.
Maybe when we focus on the searching in this story we can get some insight into these magi. If we enter the story with the magi in this story on the way to Nazareth we can ask: What do we know of searching? I suspect this question will have as many different answers as there are people in this place this morning. We are all searching at some level.
Some of you are seekers in the most open sense of that word – drawn to seek a relationship with God but not completely sure that the Christian church is the best place for you. But you’re still willing to spend some time with this community of faith while you are searching.
Some of you are committed, life-long Christians. For you the search may be a process of continually seeking to deepen and strengthen your faith, to be always growing.
Or maybe most of the time you believe your time of searching is done – you feel confidant in the faith you have found. Maybe there is only the occasional quiet nagging of a voice just on the edge of consciousness that speaks of unfulfilled longing, suggesting there is something more out there, urging you to set out again on the search.
Maybe some of you don’t know what you’re searching for, but you know something’s missing from life and you want to believe there’s more – so you have set out trying to find it.
Or maybe some of you are as cozy as I am when I settle into the couch on a cold, snowy day – figuring there’s not much that’s compelling enough to get you to budge!
I respect, and have no particular reason to question, those who say they have no belief in or yearning for God’s presence in their lives. But, I believe that most of us do feel that yearning. I think this is what we know about searching. Something in us is drawn toward something divine, and so our lives become a journey toward the divine. I suspect it was that yearning that lay behind the Magi’s decision to set out upon their search. I believe that yearning itself is a God-given gift, a motivation to seek God. It’s what sets us searching.
Of course, there is a sort of good news/bad news about this searching – and we see this in the Magi’s story. The good news is that the search paid off – they found what they were searching for. The bad news is that their journey didn’t end when they found him.
And that is true for us, too. If we learn anything from the Magi, it is that finding Jesus is only the first step in the next leg of the journey, a journey on a new road. Once we’ve encountered Jesus, which might be an amazing experience, we still have to integrate that into our lives and let it change us and send us in directions we never knew before. In other words, the journey doesn’t end.
Somehow, it was the call of God that set the magi on their way and it was the encounter with Jesus that convinced them to change course and set their life on a new path. And so the question comes to us: Where do you hear God’s call? Do you hear it in the stars – through dreaming? Whispered to you through your longings and desires? What is your epiphany? What is it that you have found that keeps you coming back here, that keeps you yearning to live as God has called you to live – to go where God directs you?
I had someone ask me recently to articulate the reasons I feel compelled to do what I believe God is calling me to do. He was asking, basically, what pulls me toward God even when it seems like God is far away and hard to find. So I’ve been thinking about it. I realized that for me, for whatever reason – let’s call it God – I seem to be wired to take on the experiences of the invisible people in our world. I imagine myself in their shoes and imagine what it is like to cry out and then find there is absolutely no one listening. Really no one who thinks you are living.
At times this completely overwhelms me and I shut down – I try to shut the feelings out completely. But most of the time it is those people – the invisible – that compel me to make a journey to places I don’t yet know. This is what compels me to come here to worship and to learn, to seek God and try to make sense of it all.
What has God placed in you that compels you to make the journey? What gets you out of bed and keeps you searching for meaning and purpose? What motivates you to action? Maybe it is your encounters with Jesus – in whatever way that happens – that motivate you to continue on the way – and we all encounter Jesus in different ways. Some of us meet Jesus in the scriptures, some of us see Jesus in the life of faithful person. Some see Jesus in the eyes of those who suffer most in this world. Some encounter Jesus in communion, or through worship and community.
These are epiphanies. These are the moments we are set on a journey seeking even more – motivated to be an agent of God, rather than just people who stay where we are and keep doing what we have always done.
To say that we are searching, that we are on a journey rather than settled in one place, is an odd kind of good news, especially in a culture where we are eager for end results, and terribly impatient with the process. But I am convinced that the search contains as much good news as the arrival. Searching is our heartfelt response to God’s call to us. It is the expression of our yearning, the willingness to go out of our way in the hope of encountering God in our own lives. It is the opening for epiphany. Amen
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